Draw a Circle, There's Your Target
by fringes of sanity
Summary: Characters from Hetalia are thrown into the Hunger Games, competing, and fighting to the death. Only one may live to win. An assortment of 12 nations. Possibly rated M for later chapters, due to violence and gore. R
1. Prologue and Author's Notes

**Okay, so, this fanfic will basically be about the 100****th**** Hunger Games, but the tributes are Hetalia characters, hence the cross-over label. **

** Anyway, the way I decided to write this story goes like this;; there are 24 tributes, but only 12 of them are important, and the others are unnamed, you can make them be whoever you like.**

** Also, all of the tributes are MALE as it will be explained in a little bit… yeah, it's just to make things more interesting.**

** The characters that the story focuses on are [in order of District];**

**1 – America**

**2 – Denmark**

**3 – Japan  
**

**4 – Prussia**

**5 – S. Italy**

**6 – Norway**

**7 – Canada**

**8 – China**

**9 – Russia**

**10 – Switzerland**

**11 – England**

**12 – Latvia**

**I chose these characters because I like them, but I didn't put in Germany, Italy or Japan because I didn't want to have really main characters involved… and that's that. If you don't like the idea, don't read it. HERE WE GO!!**

**Oh, and I don't own the Hunger Games, or Hetalia, and if any author has thought of this already, I apologize, and assure you that I didn't mean to copy or anything, I just decided this would be fun. **

**Oh, and this is my first FanFiction, so I'd like a lot of constructive criticism, if possible...  
**

**NOW it's really starting…

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**PROLOGUE**

The country of Panem woke up early that day, in anticipation of the great annual event. Today was the day of the Reaping. Two tributes would be selected from each of the twelve districts to partake in the Hunger Games.

Not only were they excited for the Reaping, but this year they would be lucky enough to watch the 100th Hunger Games. For such an occasion, the Capitol decided to make it a bit special…

_ 'As this year will be the most important one, these Hunger Games will be the most great. The rules have been altered for this year only. Rather than selecting one male and one female tribute from each district, two males will be selected, instead. It has been requested by the citizens of the Capitol, and so it shall be!'_

Those words were announced the night before, and everyone was practically buzzing with excitement. Well, almost everyone. Some of those lucky boys between the ages of 12 and 18 who are in the running to participate aren't too pleased about this. Then again, who really cares what they think?

The time has come. Let the Reaping begin.

* * *

"**orz**

**First chapter = SUPER SHORT, but don't worry! The next chapter will be up by tomorrow, if not today, and it will be much longer. This was just so you know why there are only guys and if you wanted to know the characters blah blah blah you probably don't really care what I'm talking about right now. SO just read it… and hopefully enjoy it?**

**Might be rated M in later chapters for level of gore and blood… lotsa violence in store~**

**R&R, plox? **


	2. If this is a race, I hope you come last

**OMG it's a chapter 2~ though this is really like a chapter ONE… since the other one was a prologue… But anyway, all of the chapters will be a lot longer than the prologue.**

**I ****DON****'T OWN HETALIA OR THE ****HUN****GER GAMES and don't you ever forget that.**

** So here it is. Enjoy, and don't forget to R&R

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**CHAPTER ONE**

-- the reaping --

**DISTRICT 1**

Two names had been called already. The tributes were chosen. One of them, though, looked a bit less willing to participate. Interpreting that as the opportune moment, America jumped up and raised his voice above the volume of the crowd and it soared over their heads.

"I volunteer to replace him!!" he shouted. This year was _his_ year. This year, _he_ would win the Hunger Games.

He took to the stage, beaming as he walked, accepting the applause eagerly. He was definitely loving this.

* * *

**DISTRICT 2**

The whole crowd was buzzing when they heard the second tribute announced. Denmark. He was the strongest, most bloodthirsty of the whole district, and everyone was hoping, even praying, that he would be chosen this year.

Denmark smirked with pride and strode up onto the stage. The people of District 2 started whooping, cheering his name, his smirk cracked into a grin, his fists pumped into the air triumphantly. He had trained for this event since he was a young child, and he knew that it was his destiny to win it all.

* * *

**DISTRICT 3**

In the third district, Japan stood around rather nervously. _I hope they don't choose me. I'd much rather just stay inside…_ he thought to himself, but he was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the tributes being called out. The first name was, unmistakably, his.

He stiffened and told himself not to move, but his body knew better. He slowly stepped into position on the platform. The crowd was applauding the tributes, but Japan couldn't hear any of it – all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. This wasn't what he expected at all.

* * *

**DISTRICT 4**

A boy with blond hair and blue eyes was about to walk onto the stage, as is name had been called. At that moment, his brother held him back.

"West, no! I'll go instead," Prussia hissed, stepping up to the plate instead of Germany. _I can't let him just throw his life away; he won't last in these games. Besides, he's not awesome enough to participate. My awesomeness, on the other hand, will crush everyone for it is epic in its scope._ He thought to himself as his lips curved upwards rather smugly, showing off just how confident he was.

* * *

**DISTRICT 5**

North Italy was giggling and pulling on his brother's 'curl' during the whole ceremony. South Italy, on the other hand, was not amused. He scowled and his eyebrow twitched slightly with every tug of the hair.

"Ow. Stop it… Ow Stop it… Ow Stop it…" he would mutter from time to time. When his name was called, his grimace deepened. '_Great. First him, now _this. _Really…'_ he thought, swatting his brother's hand away and walking up to the platform, practically fuming.

'_Does life get any better!?'

* * *

_

**DISTRICT 6**

Everything here was run of the mill. The tributes' names were called, they went to the platform, the rest of the district applauds. Simple as that.

The tributes, though, were very different this year. One of them was a young boy, 12, who was very chubby. He was sobbing and scared out of his wits. Not very promising. The other was slim and rather feminine-looking. He went by the name of Norway.

Norway was almost the opposite of the first tribute; his face showed no emotion at all. His indifference wasn't a problem, though, since his intelligence and agility made up for it.

There was applause from everyone in the district, though it was half-hearted. They didn't stand a chance, really.

* * *

**DISTRICT 7**

Confusion passed over everyone's faces when the first tribute was chosen. Whispers passed between them, but it was mostly silent. A boy with dark blond hair and glasses walked up nervously to take his position. Everything was quiet again until one man had the guts to ask the question that everyone else was dying to know the answer to.

"Who the hell are you?" he said. The boy answered in a small voice and the people near the back of the crowd strained their ears to hear it.

"I'm Canada,"

* * *

**DISTRICT 8**

China was quite shocked when he was chosen to represent his district in the Hunger Games, but that didn't mean that he wasn't excited about it.

Walking up to the stage, he thought about what the food would be like in the Capitol. He ended up smiling during the whole thing, but that was mostly because he was fantasizing about what delectable dinners he would be eating soon enough. This wouldn't be as bad as the rumors said…

* * *

**DISTRICT 9**

There was an eruption of voices once Russia's name had been called. He walked to the stage with a soft smile on his face, and he seemed very calm and kind, though the glint in his eyes gave away the fact that he could kill you with nothing but a glance.

The crowd payed no attention to the other tribute, now. Russia was the strongest person they'd ever seen, and they believed he would win hands down. He was who they had been waiting for.

* * *

**DISTRICT 10**

There was a little girl standing in the crowd, her hands clasped together. She listened nervously, desperately hoping that her brother would slip out of the clutches of the Hunger Games. She didn't want him to die.

It was all in vain, though. Switzerland was chosen as a tribute, and the girl, Liechtenstein broke down in tears. His face was all business though. He looked rather pissed, really.

At this point, only one thing crossed his mind. '_I hope they've got guns_'

* * *

**DISTRICT 11**

England was having a casual conversation with his 'imaginary' friends until they announced him as the second tribute from District 11. His heart dropped and he was extremely upset, but he clenched his fists and walked up to the platform swiftly.

'_Terrible, that's what this is! It's worse than that time I burnt those bloody scones and got food poisoning for a week! Though I'm not sure why, they were quite delicious. OH, bugger! I can't believe I'm actually forced to accept this. Lunacy, I say!'_ he ranted on and on inside his head.

He tried to look a bit pleased with himself for the cameras, though. He couldn't let the other tributes see any of his weaknesses.

* * *

**DISTRICT 12**

A little boy was shaking uncontrollably amidst the other candidates. This was the last place he wanted to be, and he felt even more walled in by the fact that everyone was at least a head taller than him.

"And so, the first tribute is…" his teeth began to chatter. "Latvia!" At this he jumped, and his eyes went very wide. '_No, no, no! It can't be me! It must be a mistake! Oh… oh no…' _he walked up the steps shakily and turned to face the crowd. The tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, though they didn't fall, and he fiddled with his fingers nervously. Of all the people, he was probably the weakest.

District 12 wasn't surprised, though. They knew that they couldn't win, but nevertheless, having him as a representative could get a bit embarrassing.

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**That took so long to finish… I'm really sorry! I ended up having a lot of things to do and I could barely find any time to write this up. Sorry about the fail-ed-ness of it, by the way. I didn't want to write too much about each person… Yeah, the chapters leading up to the games will probably come pretty slowly, since I didn't plan them as well as I did the actual Hunger Games. I'll try extra hard to get the next chapter out soon, though.  
**

** Critiques? Suggestions? Please Review!! **


	3. If you've got it Flaunt it

**Sorry this took forever to get up… yeah I'll probably update about once every two weeks, but reviews would totally make me update more often –hint hint nudge nudge— [thanks for all of the reviews so far, by the way. They are loved~]**

** Anyway, here's the second chapter, and I hope you enjoy it (even though it's half-assed)!**

**[The chapters are not going to be going into great detail with each character yet, just because this is the introduction and blah-di-blah, but trust me, later on, they will. You just wait.]**

**DISCLAIMER—I don't own Hetalia OR the Hunger Games series.**

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**CHAPTER TWO**

-- the parade --

The tributes all stepped off of their respective trains once arriving in the Capitol. Today was going to be a very tiring day, what with the parade and all that smiling, but most of them were excited and full of energy.

It wasn't long before they met their stylists and started getting themselves ready. This year, the stylists weren't going by traditions, so each costume didn't reflect the district, but instead, they decided to celebrate the end of the war by using historically based costumes. Each district had a different uniform during the war. The tributes would be wearing a slightly altered version of this.

America was starting to whine at his stylists after only 30 minutes of standing still. "Guyys~ my feet hurt!" he would say, with the occasional "Are you done yet..?" - Occasional being every ten seconds.

Other than that, you could say that his costume was coming along rather well. He wore khaki cargo pants which were tucked into his brown combat boots so far, as well as a plain white T-shirt. Soon, one of the assistant stylists brought in a brown bomber jacket and tied it around his waist.

"You're almost ready…" the stylist mumbled before attaching a big banner [why, yes, it was star-spangled] to America's shoulders, so that it acted as a long superhero cape.

"Oh, man! This is soooo cool!!" America shouted when he saw himself in the cape. He ran around in circles with his arms outstretched like an airplane, making whooshing noises and laughing. "I'm the hero, I'M the hero I'M THE HERO!!"

* * *

In another room, Denmark was admiring himself in a mirror, though he wasn't really admiring the outfit, or the lack thereof. He was only wearing the red pants that were rolled up just below his knees and the brown boots that were just a few inches higher than the pants. He chuckled a bit.

"Damn, my abs are stunning," he poked at them a couple times before his stylist, slapped his hands away.

"Keep your arms at your sides, for now!" she snapped before pausing and examining his form. "Though… it is true, you are very well sculpted…" to this remark, he grinned arrogantly giving her an "I know, right?" kind of look.

After a few more minutes of discussing how sexy he was, it was time to get the rest of his clothes on, though the stylist decided to alter the outfit a bit, just because she didn't want to cover up his upper half completely. As a resolve, she got rid of the shirt.

Now, he was wearing a long black, unbuttoned coat and a loose red tie around his neck. He also sported a small black hat, which he wore slightly off-center. Denmark nodded in approval, still smiling egotistically.

* * *

The stylists worked in silence, and Japan stood there, silent and still. A bit earlier, his stylist had explained that even though the rules were to dress the tributes in military uniforms from the rebellion, Japan would get a different uniform…

So there he was, standing there, wrapped in a silk kimono. It was plain black, but the hem, collar, and sleeves had gold on them. The garment, though rather loose, was very comfortable, and it made Japan look as masculine as possible, considering that most would think he was wearing a dress. He would really rather have worn a traditional army uniform. This was probably going to get a lot of laughs out of the Capitol, but not in a good way.

"It's perfect!" his stylist exclaimed. He nodded slowly, and the assistants went rambling on and on about how cute he looked. They even brushed some pink powder onto his cheeks so that he appeared to be blushing all the time. _Is 'cute' really going to get me sponsors…? I'm not quite sure if this is the right approach, but I can't argue. I-I guess it'll be okay…_ he thought.

* * *

The Prussian man stood silently as the stylists worked on him, though in his head, all he was thinking was 'Oh, man, I look so awesome~ I'll be the awesomest tribute EVER! That's for sure.' and other things regarding his awesomeness.

Once the stylist stepped away to admire the work, Prussia got a good look at himself in the mirror. He had matching blue coat [unbuttoned] and pants, Prussian Blue, of course, that tucked into his knee-high combat boots, as well as a muscle shirt underneath the coat. Under the coat was a T-shirt. He also wore an iron cross on a loose, thick chain around his neck [it looked pretty G]. He threw his head back in laughter.

"Oh, God, I was right! I AM the most awesome person in all existence! Ahahah!!" this was his moment of triumph. He beamed and walked around a bit singsong-ing about his awesome he looked in his costume, a very haughty air about his walk. Out of all the tributes, hell, the whole universe, even, he was probably the most conceited.

* * *

There wasn't very much to say about S. Italy, other than the fact that the scowl he had worn since his name was drawn from the reaping ball had yet to fade. He scowled during the day, he scowled while eating. He scowled while sleeping, even. And now, once again, he was scowling.

His stylists were quite displeased, and they didn't try not to show it.

"Oh, you're such a DOWNER. You should really lighten up! Wearing a frown like that could leave permanent wrinkles on your face, you know." one of them hissed, their voice hushed near the end. At this, he rolled his eyes. _When will this torture END?!_ he thought to himself.

After an hour or two, the stylists stepped away to reveal a rather simple outfit. It was just a khaki coat with matching pants, and combat boots. What was so special about it? Well, nothing, really.

S. Italy let out a grunt of disapproval, and muttered something about never getting sponsors in that outfit, though no one else heard him. It's not as if he cared whether they heard or not, anyway.

* * *

Norway remained silent, and obediently followed the instructions of the stylists helping him. They weren't very pleased with his reactions to anything, because his face was practically set in stone. They were hoping for someone who would listen to all of their problems, like all of the other years.

It didn't really matter, in the end, because they ended up entertaining each other, leaving him out of it, to his relief. He wasn't used to hearing people talk so much, and honestly, the amount of talking that they just did was probably more than all of the combined amounts of social interaction that he'd ever had in his entire life.

He was completely lost in thought, until he heard one of his least favourite words erupt from the mouths of the stylists.

"Cuuuuute~" the squealed and cooed at the same time. Norway sent a glare their way, and they stopped, though their whispers continued. He turned to face the mirror to make sure that it wasn't him that they were referring to, and to his dismay, it was.

He was wearing a navy blue belted sailor's top, and black gloves. Not to mention the matching pants, cuffs, and collar, which were a few shades lighter. He also sported a sailor's hat, the same colour as the pants, and it was places rather loosely on the back of his head, so that his hairpin was uncovered. The hairpin was his district token. A gift from his younger brother. It was in the shape of the Nordic Cross.

He crossed his arms and scoffed lightly. _Tch, 'cute'… as if._

_

* * *

_

"Like, what's going on? Isn't there, like, supposed to be a tribute I'm supposed to, like, dress up and stuff?" the stylist, Feliks, said in a confused voice. What he didn't notice was that the tribute was standing right in front of him.

"U-uhm, I'm right here…" Canada spoke up, waving at Feliks weakly.

"WOAH! I, like, totally didn't know we had GHOSTS in this building! That's soooo, like, creepy!"

"Excuse m-me…"

"Like, oh my God, there it is again!"

After a few more minutes of confusion, Canada seemed to 'materialize', and Feliks got straight to work, babbling about some odd spirits and ghosts, telling the whole story to Canada. The poor boy couldn't even explain what really happened, as his stylist never even paused to take a breath.

He gave up trying to talk after a while, and, before he knew it, he was ready. Clad in a long, tan coat that was fur trimmed, with matching pants, tucked into dark brown boots. For an added effect, he had a pair of goggles resting on his head, despite that fact that he already wore glasses.

Everyone started to say that he looked so adorable, and the entire Capitol would sponsor him after this and in response, he blushed madly, causing the excitement level to go up. For once, maybe he'd be noticed…

* * *

Once the red, silk, mandarin jacket was on his shoulders, China actually started to reply to the stylists, mostly about how smooth the fabric was, and other things to do with clothing. This was probably the only time that the tribute and the stylists got along, and had the same interests.

China was now the one doing most of the talking, as he admired the embroidery on his jacket.

"This must've taken so long to do by hand, aru~" he commented, running his hand along the pattern.

Next he put on the white pants. They had elastic at the bottom so that they fit snugly around his ankle, though they were a bit poofy everywhere else.

Well, he thought they looked cool, and they were, [I just suck at explaining things] especially with the black slippers he now stepped in to.

"Oh, this outfit is great, aru~!" he said, doing a few flips around the room to test out the mobility of the costume. It was perfect for him.

They stylists had to make him stop his acrobatic routine so that they could place a conical straw hat on his head, completing the outfit.

* * *

The tall man was very intimidating to his stylists, who just happened to be the shortest stylists in the history of the Games. He smiled down at them, and they all cowered behind the outfit that was chosen for him.

"Hm, that coat is very nice, da?" Russia said, taking it out of their hands and putting it on himself. They didn't object.

He ended up dressing without their help, but he didn't mind, and neither did they. It kind of worked out…

He looked in the mirror, and thought the tan coat was a good length, as it went down to his mid-calf. The brown pants were the same colour as the trim on the coat, and the boots matched the jacket. It was a very comfortable get-up, and it made him look all the more important, what with the coat flowing out behind him as he walked.

Remembering his district token, a long white scarf, he wrapped it around his neck, and turned to the stylists.

"The scarf adds a nice touch, da?" he asked, to which they responded with rapid nodding. Russia smiled a bit more, and turned back to the mirror, admiring the scarf some more.

* * *

"DON'T TOUCH ME THERE!!" Switzerland exploded, practically swatting the stylists' hands away. He thought that they were being completely and utterly ridiculous. He'd let them do whatever they'd wanted up until now, but the line had to be drawn somewhere, and the borders of that certain region were definitely it.

"But, little boy, we _have_ to!" one of them exclaimed. "How else are we supposed to get you dressed?"

"Putting on pants DOES NOT involve violating me!" he shouted. Soon enough, one of the more sane stylists stepped in, and took it from there, dressing Switzerland without getting him upset, or anything.

"Okay, and… you're ready, now," the stylists confirmed, stepping away to admire her work. He was wearing a green jacket that was rather long, extending down a few inches above his knees, and brown pants, which were tucked into dark brown boots. He was also wearing some black leather gloves, and a white hat, that almost looked like a beret.

"Finally," Switzerland muttered, not even bothering to look in the mirror.

* * *

Things were going rather smoothly in England's room. The stylist, and assistants weren't the most talkative ones, so they didn't bother him, much, and, save for the occasional grumbling, he was pretty content.

The outfit they'd dressed him in wasn't bad, either. The mossy green jacket was left half-buttoned, and he was wearing a dark green T-shirt underneath it. The pants, which were also mossy green, were comfortable. Not too tight, and not too loose. They weren't tucked into his combat boots, though, as he expected they might've been. It suited him well, and the colours of the fabric 'brought out his eyes', as one of the stylists commented. He responded with an idle flip of his wrist, a roll of his eyes, and a very unenthusiastic "Yeah, whatever" though he had actually appreciated it, on the inside. He just had to keep up his rough n' tough demeanor, not just for now, but for the entirety of the Games.

With spirits as high as ever, the stylist gave him a mini pep talk, going over everything he should do during the parade, etcetera. Of course, England just nodded in an aloof manner, not actually absorbing anything other than 'DO NOT FALL OUT'. This would be more interesting than he thought.

* * *

Last, but not least, well… actually, the least in a few things… Latvia was practically breaking out into spasms, he was shivering so much. He never wanted to be nervous and insecure, but there he was, the youngest and shortest of all the tributes, not to mention weakest, upon his terms. He had spent the entire 'dress-up period', as his stylist would call it, with his eyes closed, the only thing on his mind being how much he really didn't want to be here.

Once it was all over, though, he was clad in red pants and a matching jacket with epaulets, gold buttons and trim, and a pair of black, simple dress shoes. All of the assistants were girls, and all of them enjoyed smiling their plastic, Capitol smiles, rather than talking, unless it was to whisper amongst themselves. If their grins could get anymore wide and Barbie-like, they definitely did upon seeing the final product. Never before had they had the opportunity to dress a tribute so… small. And he was adorable, too! It was almost like some of their dreams had become a reality.

Though, to Latvia, the situation only became worse.

"W-wait… does this mean I-I have to go up onto the c-carriage and participate in the… t-the parade…?" he stuttered softly, the nerves in his voice extremely evident. Everybody else in the room nodded enthusiastically and started whispering words of excitement.

On the other hand, Latvia started tearing up, the parade scaring him half to death, let alone the Games themselves.

* * *

The time had come for all the tributes to step onto their respective carriages, and for the parade to begin. Each tribute from each district had one side of the vehicle for them, and the other for their district rival. None of them dared try and cross the invisible boundary keeping them apart, and instead went their own ways, as if they were the only ones standing there.

By the time the carriages started moving, it was evident that the career tributes were ruling the show, dominating the audience's interests completely; especially America. It was no doubt at all that he would be getting a hell of a lot of sponsors, this year.

It was all over before they knew it, and all the tributes headed up to eat some late dinner. Most of them didn't speak, and it went by silently, and uneventfully, but for some, the tributes, to be exact, they may as well have been throwing a party. All of them were laughing and having a great time, which could be heard on the adjacent floors.

The night came fast, though, and so did the fatigue of the day. Soon enough, everyone was in bed, sleeping or not, waiting for the sun to rise, which meant the first day of group training sessions. How exciting. That was meant to be read with thick sarcasm, might I add.

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** And there you are. A shitty chapter because it's really late at night and I kind of fail enough to forget about this document, even though I opened it every single day in hopes of finishing. God. I'm such a procrastinator. *NOTE; the chapters will definitely be getting longer as I go along. Keep that in mind*  
**

** Anyway, REVIEW for me, please~ it gets the chapters coming along faster.**

**what's next?;; Group Training Sessions & Private Session Scores**


	4. The Sun Won't Look The Same After Today

** Yes, I know, I know, I've been gone for practically EVER, but these past couple months have been terrible for me, to be honest. Life is being a bitch, and there's not much I can do about it, so… bear with me?**

** Anyway, I was planning on a chapter for training, group and private, then two more for interviews, so that, finally, the games would actually start on Chapter 7, or something of the like, but, honestly, I don't know how interesting it would be for you guys to sit through boring and generic interviews that are badly written due to my lack of imagination. SO, I'm just going to skip over them evil interviews. Their purpose in the book was to let you get to know the characters, anyway, and, honestly, any Hetalia fan should already know them well enough to get a gist of how the interview would go, in the end, so… yeah. **

** I'll be writing so much more frequently once the games start that I decided not to put you through the terrible experience that would be watching my uninspired writing scroll on a screen while waiting for something genuinely interesting to happen.**

** So, to get things started, here's the list of scores in the private training sessions, just in case you'd been curious about them …**

**D1 (America) – 7**

**D2 (Denmark) – 8**

**D3 (Japan) – 6**

**D4 (Prussia) – 8**

**D5 (South Italy) – 5**

**D6 (Norway) – 6**

**D7 (Canada) – 3**

**D8 (China) – 4**

**D9 (Russia) – 10**

**D10 (Switzerland) – 5**

**D11 (England) – 4 (lol)**

**D12 (Latvia) – 3**

**Yeah, so they weren't very well thought out… whatever, it was 1am when I thought these up, so deal with it.**

**ANYWAY, other than the usual disclaimer, because I, sadly, DO NOT own any Hetalia … anythings… or anything associated with the Hunger Games. Random shit like what the arena looks like are mine, though… dun steal that.**

**And, now, after the excruciatingly LONG Author's Note, the story finally begins. This will be a short chapter, I warn you, since I'm a little rusty, but the next one, which will be nice and long, should be expected to be posted within a week, so… yeah. Hope you guys like it…?**

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**CHAPTER THREE:**

- the day before the Games -

In all honestly, the last couple days seemed to go by more quickly than expected. Some people used those short days to sleep as much as possible, pack on as many pounds as they could, and keep up their health and energy to improve their overall performance in the sadistically entertaining Games. Each tribute seemed to be handling the fact that the Games were looming right ahead, only a short time away, using different methods. Certain methods were good, others, not so much, but to each their own, right?

…right…?

* * *

In a nutshell, there were tributes like America, Denmark and Prussia that spent their time living it up. Doing all their favourite things and letting the good times roll, just in case they'd never get to do it again, though all three highly doubted that. Each one believed they had the potential to win it all, so long as they killed Russia first. (hah, fat chance) that was not a pun! he's BIG-BONED, dammit!

On the other hand, there were the kind of people that just worried about it to no end, dreading it until the moment it actually came along. Canada, Latvia, and Japan, for example, were some of these people. They didn't understand why South Italy and Switzerland were spending their time venting all the anxiety, generally through violent outlets, expressing it all rather frighteningly on inanimate objects. England had tried to join them, but just got more annoyed that he wasn't breaking anything, and gave up to enjoy some tea. Lots and lots of tea.

In that way, he was somewhat like China, who was sitting around eating all of his favourite foods while they lasted. Food was probably one of the top two most important things to him in life, so there was no way he'd jump into a battlefield, craving something, and regretting the fact that he didn't let himself taste it one last time. Well, hopefully not the last…

Last but not least, the apathetic ones. Or, at least, that's how Norway was. He barely even seemed to care that he was throwing himself into inevitable death. Being a rather cynical type of guy, he knew his chances of surviving this were extremely slim, let alone surviving the first day. It almost seemed as if he'd come to terms with death. Russia was somewhere near that page, but was being less indifferent, and more mellowed out. He wasn't stressing over the situation, but taking it in a very relaxed sort of way, as if it were the smallest of matters, like going out to fetch some milk from the store, only, there were twenty three teenage males with large weapons and projectiles trying to kill you, which could possibly get in your way.

* * *

The last meal had a very foreboding and melancholy feel to it, but, then again, it had felt this way 99 times before, at every other Games that had been held in the history of Panem. Not that big of a shock, really, but it was different to hear about it than to actually experience it yourself. Honestly, it's just a lot more terrifying.

With nothing to really talk about, especially with their fellow district tributes, without feeling uneasy and out of turn, the dinner progressed almost silently, which was rather strange, considering that someone like Prussia was sitting at one of these twelve tables. That's right – imagine him, controlled, and quiet. Well, that's what the fear of death can do to a person, or so they say.

Obviously, after that came sleep, and though it was restless for some, deep for others, and nonexistent for most, it was rewarding to all parties. Whether it was to think of strategies or to prepare themselves for the day ahead, or to… okay, never mind, the people with restless half-awake half-asleep stories just got a cheap deal. Disregard the previous point, as it wasn't very well thought out…

* * *

- the day of the Games -

Nevertheless, morning came faster than it was wanted (this part is actually true, I promise), and the twenty four boys dragged themselves out of bed only to be sucked into the morning rush. Washing, dressing, walking, transportation to the arena, and whatnot. There was only one word to describe it fully – troublesome.

Somehow, they'd survived it, though. All the way until they were standing on those terrible silver plates, waiting the full sixty seconds before the gong sounded and they were released to go murder each other in the most brutal and crowd-pleasing ways possible. Hey, maybe someone would find a spork and kill somebody with it, this time. Wouldn't that be quite the show?

As they stood there in a circle, equally distanced from the cornucopia, each tribute took a moment to take note of their surroundings ::

The field of short, over-mown grass they were in now was pretty large, but, even so, the tributes could make out a mountainous region to the north of the cornucopia, some forests nearby on all sides, a sunflower field, and, from what they could see, a large wall of hedges, but all of these were only assumptions, at this point. It was slightly foggy, so they couldn't actually be sure that any of their speculations were correct, but because I'm lazy, they kind of are. The river was the only thing they were completely sure about – not only could they see it, but hear it, too. An almost eerie silence had settled over the arena, and other than the river, the only noises were the occasional bird call, and the loud, anticipated breathing of the tributes. Well, each tribute could only hear that of his own, and of the two boys on either side of him, but those are just minor details.

Thirty, twenty nine, twenty eight… the seconds flew by quickly, and the determination was visible in everyone's eyes. They had their sights set on the golden horn of bounty in the centre of their little circle formation. All sorts of things were in there, but what a few people noticed was the excess of plastic. There were plates, cups, trays, water guns, plastic tarps, pens – you name it. Common household items and such. Mostly useless ones, too. How terribly convenient. They'd have to go digging to find the real weapons, wouldn't they? The Game makers must've been looking for a gruesome blood bath, this time.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen… now the tributes were doing more than sizing up the prizes, but deciding which places were best to hide, kill, and sleep. Various strategic thought processes like that.

Eight, seven six… the entirety of the nation sat glued to their screens at this moment, waiting for those seemingly slow seconds to pass by, willing the clock to go faster, whereas the tributes wanted the exact opposite. Well, some of them, anyway.

Four, three, two… the final seconds, ticking away. This was it. This was their last chance at being alive, or at least somewhat sane. This was the beginning of the – nah, I won't pull such a cheesy line, here.

One, zero. The gong sounded, loud and mighty. The tributes took off.

Welcome, everyone, to the 100th Hunger Games.

* * *

**Terrible ending, YAY!**

**So, please review, people~**

**not only does it make my day, but I want to improve my writing abilities, so I'm looking for constructive criticism, here (:**

**and if you have any ideas you'd like me to put in, or anything.**

**Unfortunately, I've got the calendar of who dies when and who kills who all set up, and I'd ask you guys to choose, but I've got it all thought up already, so… sorry about that, but I do ask for inspiration on different kinds of things that could happen during the more quiet days. You know, possible allies, friendships, friendships-with-benefits – things like that.**

**Thanks for reading! (never thought anybody would actually want to read anything I wrote, so it actually **_**does**_** mean a lot to me, and I'm not kidding) R&R?  
**


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